An unsuitable blog for a woman...

September 30, 2008

When bread machines first came out, at $350 apiece, I said I'd get one when they came down to $100--which I did. That machine lasted me for a good many years, working just fine,

(well, it did go a little crazy occasionally)

until I somehow lost the little bit that goes round and round. I still can't understand how it could disappear--I didn't swallow it. How could it vanish between the machine and the draining board? It wouldn't fit down the sink drain. (But then, how did my keys end up in the screwdriver drawer? And since I went to the drawer several times, why didn't I find them for months? Don't tell me gremlins don't exist). I went out and bought a new bread machine ($40) about a year ago. Very happy with it, until yesterday. It sounded all right and smelled delicious as always, but when I got the loaf out, it wasn't a loaf. There was a sort of baked crust at each end and on top, and a hollow filled with dry flour and oats. Oh well, the squirrels seem to like it. But will it work properly next time? Stay tuned!

At the weekend, I was picking apples. All my four trees have huge crops this year, after practically nothing last year. I have a Cox's Orange Pippin tree--they're my favourite apples and you can't buy them in the stores here in the US. I'm still eating plums from my plum tree; just finished the grapes last week. The veg garden was a disaster this year, perhaps because I let evening primroses grow in it, as well as the usual foxgloves. My trouble is, if something even half way acceptable decides it really likes growing in my garden, I tend to let it. This includes clover, daisies, dandelions and self-heal in the "lawn". The first time my son saw my Oregon garden, he said, "I want a jungle just like that."

September 29, 2008

Ann Parker here, Monday's child at The Lady Killers, with the confession that I've been busy "fetching rocks" this past couple of weeks.

For the uninitiated, I'll explain.

The process known as "bring me a rock" can apply to any part of life, and I hasten to add my recent rock search has nothing to do with my fictional endeavors. (My Truly Excellent Editor -- TEE -- would never, ever say "bring me a rock" without being very very specific.)

Some examples of overtures that have "bring me a rock" overtones:"I want sprinkles on my ice cream.""I want a pair of black shoes.""I want a [high-tech gizmo of unknown specification].""I want to be happy . . . ."Now, if one happens to be the person to whom this request is directed, and one is obliged in some way (as a parent, spouse, member of the board, employee, service provider, you name it) to comply, there is great danger of getting sucked into "bring me a rock" spiral, as follows.

One presents the ice cream with sprinkles/high-heeled black shoes/fancy-schmancy one-of-a-kind gizmo/key to happiness ... only to be told:"No, that's not the right. The color of sprinkles/heel height/size of flash drive/key to happiness is wrong. Bring me another."

Get the picture?

In other words, the dance goes something like this: "Bring me a rock." "Okay! ... Here's a rock. A nice piece of sandstone.""No. Not that rock. Another rock.""Ooookay. ... How about this rock? It has some nice little sparkles in it. I think it might be granite.""No. That's not the right rock either. I need a different rock ... and quickly!"

This back and forth can go on and on, eventually bringing up something like the following exchange:"I've brought you five/six/two/three (whatever) rocks. There, see them, right there at your feet? If you want something different, you need to be more specific. What type/size/color rock do you want?""I'll know it when I see it."

I've done this dance many times throughout my life. Sometimes I catch on pretty quick that this is what's going on, sometimes it takes me awhile to realize I'm dancing like crazy and the rock pile is growing with no end in sight.

So, does this particular scenario sound familiar to you?

Hold on ... I think I finally found *the* rock! Next week will tell . . .

September 28, 2008

Jane here, borrowing the title of a pop-song because today it suits my mood. I should be green with envy when I read about all the
fabulous travels my fellow Lady Killers are enjoying just now – including, for
most of you, going to Bouchercon next weekend. I hope you all have a wonderful, successful
and happy time there. Don’t forget to post all the news for us stay-at-homes when
it’s over.

But I can’t feel downhearted today. I’ve got a
really good reason to be cheerful. It’s two years, all but a few days,
since I had my hip replacement done, in fact I’m due for a routine hospital
check-up this week, not that I need it. If it wasn’t that the hospital gave me this annual reminder,
I can truly say I wouldn’t be thinking about the operation at all, for the best
possible reason – it’s been a complete success. For instance, I’ve spent this
morning gardening, doing the usual autumn tidying-up, weeding, removing dead bedding plants, pruning shrubs for next year…all kinds of bending and stretching which, two years ago, I
couldn’t have attempted; I’d have been morosely leaning on a stick, unable to do
more than admire the flower beds. When I remember the pain and the lameness my
arthritic hip caused, and contrast it with the pain-free existence I enjoy now, skipping about (well OK, I’ve
never actually skipped about in my entire life, but you know what I mean,) I
know I’ve a lot to be thankful for.

If I’d lived a century ago, let alone nearly two thousand
years back, the era when my novels are set, I’d have ended up physically old in
my mid-sixties. I’d be lame and in constant pain which would prevent me walking,
standing, or even sleeping with any ease. ( I remember I had just one
comfortable chair where I could lie back to rest and get a break from the pain.) I think this disability would have been bound to affect me mentally
too; certainly when my hip was at its worst I felt grumpy and depressed a lot
of the time, as my very patient friends and family will testify. And I couldn’t function as a writer: I could make myself put words
into the computer, but when I came to review them after the operation, I realised
it was pretty poor stuff and had to re-write it all. I admire people who can
work creatively through severe pain; I don’t think I ever could.

But I can work now, and I’m feeling
neither grumpy nor depressed, nor old because I’m in my sixties. Some people who are really old (mentally but not
necessarily chronologically!) talk about the “good old days”, and there was a
lot of good about past times. Maybe people were kinder, helped
their neighbours, left their doors unlocked when they went out because nobody
would dream of robbing them. Vandalism, drugs, violence, may well have been
less in former times, (and reported less too, perhaps?) Nostalgia is
one of the fastest growing leisure activities in western society. But when it
comes to medical treatments, you can keep your good old days; I’m happy to be
living in the 21st century.

September 27, 2008

Sharan here, finally remembering that I get to pontificate on Saturdays. I loved Cara's story about her stalker, although they don't always have such an upbeat ending. I had a very obsessive fan who wrote me for years, huge tomes. He obviously had serious problems, including a fondness for "dear little girls". Since my daughter was ten when he first contacted me, I was not about to laugh it off. That was before the internet. With it now, there is a scary balance between wanting to promote one's work and communicate with readers and being too darn accessible for safety. I'm moderately paranoid and don't let my address and phone number float around but I know that if someone is obsessed enough then they can find me.

Admittedly, I don't dwell on it most of the time. This has been a work week and so there's nothing exciting to report. So I can muse about privacy issues. I am looking forward to Bouchercon in Baltimore. Is anyone else going to be there?

Sharan here, finally remembering that I get to pontificate on Saturdays. I loved Cara's story about her stalker, although they don't always have such an upbeat ending. I had a very obsessive fan who wrote me for years, huge tomes. He obviously had serious problems, including a fondness for "dear little girls". Since my daughter was ten when he first contacted me, I was not about to laugh it off. That was before the internet. With it now, there is a scary balance between wanting to promote one's work and communicate with readers and being too darn accessible for safety. I'm moderately paranoid and don't let my address and phone number float around but I know that if someone is obsessed enough then they can find me.

Admittedly, I don't dwell on it most of the time. This has been a work week and so there's nothing exciting to report. So I can muse about privacy issues. I am looking forward to Bouchercon in Baltimore. Is anyone else going to be there?

September 26, 2008

Cara here on Friday in Paris...
Last night I read at the Red Wheelbarrow, the fantastic, crammed English language bookstore in the Marais. And my stalker was there.
According to Penelope the owner, he'd visited the shop several times asking for me, trying to get my mobile number, my address in Paris and generally acting weird. Funny thing is that he lives in San Francisco, talked my ear off at the Bookshop West Portal a few months ago and kept asking me about where to stay in Paris. Even my husband thought he was odd.
Penelope was nervous and wanted to cancel our event but we talked it over and then planned all kinds of elaborate protection scenarios which we ended up laughing about. I mean the shop is crammed floor to ceiling with books! He, who shall remain nomless, came...with his MOTHER!
At Penelope's flat on rue de Turenne later over a bottle of champagne six of us analyzed the evening and figured he didn't get near me because I have an awful cold - he's terrified of germs - and his mother nixed any danger.
There's one positive side to having a raging cold...
Cara

September 24, 2008

Sorry--yesterday flew right by me. So here's a brief post--hope I'm not treading on anyone's toes.

I've had some interest in the house Daisy and Alec acquired and moved into in Black Ship. Having decided they were going to live in Hampstead, I went there. Straight out of the tube station, I went into the nearest estate agents and asked them where to find nice houses built in the last decade of the 19th C or early years of the 20th. I was directed to Gainsborough Gardens (and told Boy George lives there now!).

I changed the name to Constable Circle (the painter Constable also lived in Hampstead, and it seemed appropriate, if confusing, for a Detective Chief Inspector). This is the house I chose for Daisy:

and this is the garden in front of it, in the centre of the circle, in which the body is found:

September 21, 2008

Jane here, ruminating on the interesting news that bookshops
are beginning to install machines that can print and bind a book in about seven
minutes. That’s what I call print on demand!

The theory is that with this new bit of kit, called the
Espresso Book Machine, (and nicknamed the ATM for books,) you’ll be able to walk into a bookshop and if they haven’t
got the title you want, they will print you a paperback copy while you wait, using
digitised files already on their machine. It’ll be ready so quickly in fact
that you’ll barely have time for a coffee, let alone a good long browse around
their shelves.

There are already Espresso Book Machines up and running in the USA,
Canada, and Egypt, and plans for Australia and New Zealand. In the UK, Blackwell’s
will be the first book retail chain to go for the EBM. They’ll try them in a handful of shops “sometime this autumn.”

Exciting, isn’t it? For readers, and I think for writers too,
not to mention the good old traditional paper book, whose death is so often foretold,
but so far hasn’t happened.

Speaking as a reader, I wonder what the physical quality of the books will be like. The makers of the machine
describe them as “library quality”. I don’t know what that means, given that
the Espresso copies will be paperback, and many if not most libraries still
prefer hardbacks. Will they be reasonably robust, and what will the print quality be like? I’ve seen reports to suggest that illustrations don’t come out
very well. But it’s early days, and I’m obviously reserving judgment till I’ve
tried the Espresso out for myself – and I’ll do that the first chance I get. If
anyone reading this already has tried it, do please tell us all about it.

Speaking as a writer, we authors will have to make sure proper provision is
made in our contracts to cover this new sort of distribution. How will royalties
be calculated? At present, books produced by the EBM are sold at the same price that
would be charged for that book on the shop’s shelves. But what if bookshops decide
to charge less than the shelf price? And how about authors’ rights over
work that goes out of print – can a book ever be deemed out of print, if it’s
potentially available on an Espresso? I’m sure all of this is soluble, but I’d
like to see publishers and writers discussing and negotiating and finding solutions
now, at an early stage. Writers’ concerns and rights mustn’t be ignored.
If they are…well it wouldn’t be the first time that those who publish and distribute
creative work make more out of it than those who originated that work. Let’s make
sure this injustice doesn’t happen to us.

I don’t want to be negative about this, though, just cautious.
I think it’s exciting and hope it will be the biggest breakthrough in book
production since Gutenberg. If you want to know more, the Internet has quite a bit of
information: for instance, this article from The Bookseller, at

September 20, 2008

Sharan, who doesn't mind at all if Rhys posts on my day. The more the merrier. I haven't much to report in any case. I have been trolling though book selling sites to find the going price for all the paperbacks I lost in the Great Water Heater flood. I was astonished that some were worth twenty or thirty dollars. These aren't just golden age mysteries that I've picked up of the years. They were the paperback originals of my friends, mostly from the 1980's and 1990's. Some of these people have switched careers and others have moved on to hardcovers and best-seller lists. But their early work is considered valuable. So, anyone who started out in paperback, don't toss the remainders. They may send your grandchildren to college.

Otherwise, I am poking along on a new book, and canning vegetables.

By the way, I got the list of books Sarah Palin is supposed to have tried to ban. It's apparently not true. She looked into banning library books but never did anything about it. I am always reminded of the old film "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" in which Jimmy Stewart is nearly ruined by a newspaper smear campaign and not saved by the truth but the suicide of Claude Rains, who leaves a note that uncovers the plot. Obviously candidates today can't rely on an opportune suicide. How to find the truth? I have no idea. I think it's easier when a few hundred years have passed, but truth is a wily animal. But I do think that as writers, we owe it to readers to be as accurate as we can in our books. Sometimes the only truth around is found in fiction.

Rhys, just creeping in on Sharan's day to say that I'm off to Sedona for the week and probably won't be able to post on Wednesday. I'm going hiking with friends amid the fabulous red rocks. I'll post pictures when I get back.